The Wandering Jew — Complete eBook

Then the Strangler again began to creep on his knees
and belly, till he arrived at the cabin of Djalma—­that
cabin constructed of mats suspended from bamboos.
After listening attentively, he drew from his girdle
a knife, the sharp-pointed blade of which was wrapped
in a fig-leaf, and made in the matting an incision
of three feet in length. This was done with such
quickness, and with so fine a blade, that the light
touch of the diamond cutting glass would have made
more noise. Seeing, by means of this opening,
which was to serve him for a passage, that Djalma was
still fast asleep, the Thug, with incredible temerity,
glided into the cabin.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TATTOOING

The heavens, which had been till now of transparent
blue, became gradually of a greenish tint, and the
sun was veiled in red, lurid vapor. This strange
light gave to every object a weird appearance, of which
one might form an idea, by looking at a landscape
through a piece of copper colored glass. In those
climates, this phenomenon, when united with an increase
of burning heat, always announces the approach of a
storm.

From time to time there was a passing odor of sulphur;
then the leaves, slightly shaken by electric currents,
would tremble upon their stalks; till again all would
return to the former motionless silence. The weight
of the burning atmosphere, saturated with sharp perfumes,
became almost intolerable. Large drops of sweat
stood in pearls on the forehead of Djalma, still plunged
in enervating sleep—­for it no longer resembled
rest, but a painful stupor.

The Strangler glided like a reptile along the sides
of the ajoupa, and, crawling on his belly, arrived
at the sleeping-mat of Djalma, beside which he squatted
himself, so as to occupy as little space as possible.
Then began a fearful scene, by reason of the mystery
and silence which surrounded it.

Djalma’s life was at the mercy of the Strangler.
The latter, resting upon his hands and knees, with
his neck stretched forward, his eye fixed and dilated,
continued motionless as a wild beast about to spring.
Only a slight nervous trembling of the jaws agitated
that mask of bronze.

But soon his hideous features revealed a violent struggle
that was passing within him—­a struggle
between the thirst, the craving for the enjoyment
of murder, which the recent assassination of the slave
had made still more active, and the orders he had
received not to attempt the life of Djalma, though
the design, which brought him to the ajoupa, might
perhaps be as fatal to the young Indian as death itself.
Twice did the Strangler, with look of flame, resting
only on his left hand, seize with his right the rope’s
end; and twice his hand fell—­the instinct
of murder yielding to a powerful will, of which the
Malay acknowledged the irresistible empire.

In him, the homicidal craving must have amounted to
madness, for, in these hesitations, he lost much precious
time: at any moment, Djalma, whose vigor, skill,
and courage were known and feared, might awake from
his sleep, and, though unarmed, he would prove a terrible
adversary. At length the Thug made up his mind;
with a suppressed sigh of regret, he set about accomplishing
his task.